


What We Have Now

by Savethebrokenboy



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, F/F, F/M, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savethebrokenboy/pseuds/Savethebrokenboy
Summary: It had been two years since the -then fifteen year old- twins, Pietro and Wanda, were forced out of their home country of Russia. The government collapsed, leaving riots in the streets; forcing the twins to move to America.A man that hardly even knows the two children watches after them from afar, it had been two years since he had saved the boy from the bombings. Although the boy doesn’t remember, his sister does, and the memories of  watching a man carry her blood covered brother through the streets to safety still haunts her.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Pietro Maximoff, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

“No!” The younger twin screamed out as she felt her brother's life being ripped out of him.   
The older man that was with them struggled to get the older twin away from the bullets and shrapnel raining down on them.   
“Go..” the white blond choked out, the older brunette struggled to get to the safety of the jet carrying the twin.   
“I’m not letting you die.”   
As they reached the jet, the younger twin running alongside the two men, Pietro had begun to bleed out.   
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” the older man said while laying the younger man on the white, clean carpet of the jet. Wanda just stood behind the man that had saved her brother, tears rolling down her porcelain cheeks. 

——

Wanda woke with a start; hair matting her sticky neck and forehead. She wiped her wet cheeks, looking over to the bedside clock that read 3AM.   
It was just a dream. She reminded herself as she looked around the darkness, willing her heart to beat at a normal pace.   
She heard footsteps coming down the hall outside her door.   
“Hey,” it was her brother, “I heard you screaming. Are you alright?” The worry lines creased his face as he walked into the room. This has been an ongoing issue for a few weeks. The younger twin would wake up covered in sweat and tears after seeing her brother being murdered many different ways.   
“Yeah-“ she sat up, “just a bad dream.”  
The white-blond just nodded his head, not wanting to talk about this issue at three in the morning. 

—--

As the twins hurry around for school that starts in a mere half hour, Pietro kept tripping over the coffee table trying to get his grey track shoes on, the dark half moons more prominent than usual under his eyes.  
“Just walking?” Wanda asked sarcastically, watching her brother struggle with a smirk.   
“Shut up, I am twelve minutes older than you,” he smirks, his Russian accent thicker as he tries to wake up.   
“Whatever, we are going to be late.” Wanda states, moving to the front door.   
A car horn is heard as Wanda opens the door to their house. Pietro looks in the familiar car, seeing the younger man, Peter, and Wade as they descend the stairs.   
“Get in losers,” Wade exclaims as the twins climb in the backseat. With their doors barely closed, Wade speeds off towards the school.   
Arriving with minutes to spare, the four teenagers climb out of the red and black muscle car. Wade, snaking his arm around Peter, nods to Pietro as he and his boyfriend walk off. With a look of reluctance, the twins parted ways to go to their classes.   
Pietro walks to his first class of the day, Trig. He sat in the chair in the front row closest to the door, setting his book bag on the joint desk. Seeing as his teacher hadn’t even arrived yet, he brought his phone from his pocket, seeing a notification from the man he babysits for.

From // Mr. Barton   
Can you sit Elliot tonight? -delivered: 7:55 A.M

He read the text, a smile gracing his lips. He thought for a minute, all he had tonight was football practice, and he could skip that if he needed. 

To // Mr. Barton  
Yeah. I will be there after practice -delivered: 8:05 A.M

When he saw that the text was sent he looked up to the white board, the late bell now ringing. 

~

Pietros P.O.V. 

My first four hours dragged ass, I could barely stay awake through English and Trig, much less history and health. Now it’s lunch and I tiredly walk up to the lunch bench with my food tray, plopping down between Wade and another senior named Caleb.   
“Whatcha doin’ tonight?” Wade asked, bumping my arm with his own.   
“Babysitting Eli,” I reply, fishing my phone from my front pocket. I look up at Wade from my phone, only to see him wiggling his eyebrows at me. I just cock an eyebrow at his antics.  
“Gonna go see his hot dad?” Wade suggested. I just stare at him blankly; it was no secret that Mr. Barton is extremely handsome, and Wade never let me forget that fact either.   
“You know, I actually wonder why I am friends with you,” I say looking from Wade to Caleb, who was not paying attention to us. I started thinking about what Eli and I would do tonight; probably play with Legos and watch a movie.   
I was pulled out of my thoughts as I felt my phone buzz in my hand. I look down seeing a text come across my screen. 

From // Mr. Barton  
Sorry to ask but can you come right after you get out of school? Eli just got sick and they want me at work at 3:30. -delivered: 11:53 A.M. 

I sigh, knowing that I would have to miss practice and swing by my house to grab my car earlier than expected. 

To // Mr. Barton  
Yeah. sounds good. -delivered 11:55 A.M. 

I look to Wade, seeing him wrapped around a very red Peter Parker. I shake my head and clear my throat, effectively gaining his attention.   
“Can you drop me by my house to get my car before you go to practice,” I ask, knowing he would. He just nods with a suspicious look on his face before turning his attention back to his boyfriend. The bell to signal the end of lunch rang, just as a text buzzed through my phone. 

From // Mr. Barton  
Thanks kid. I’m sorry, I know you have practice but I will pay you extra this month. -delivered 12:00 P.M. 

I just shove my phone back in my pocket as I walk to my next class, Biology. We were learning about the different phases of the cell cycle. I sit down at the workbench second closest to the big window at the back side of the lab. Setting my silver book bag down on the black bench, I sigh and retrieve a worn text book from the cabinet on the other side of the room.   
As people start to file in the room Wade waltzes in, a dumb smile on his face. He takes the stool on my left and leans his head on my shoulder, sighing contentedly.   
“What's got you so happy?” I ask, shrugging his head off of me.   
“Peter,” he simply states. I nod, knowing that Peter had Wade wrapped around his slim finger.   
I look up from the textbook to the clock on the wall, seeing that only ten minutes were left in class. I close my text book and elbow Wade in the side, waking him from his daily nap. He groans as I get up and walk to the brown cabinet from which the book came. Mr. Peaslee, the biology teacher that should really be the teacher of the physical sciences, glanced at me from his desk in the front of the room. I just shrug it off as I walk back to my spot at the workbench, gathering my spiral notebook and pens and stuffing them into my book bag.   
Only three more classes, I tell myself. I check the time on my phone, only two more minutes left in class. My phone buzzes in my hand, I unlock the screen to see a text from Wanda, 

From // Babysister   
I’m staying over at a friends house tonight, just wanted to let you know. Delivered 12:52 P.M. 

I quickly type back a text message saying that that was fine and that I was sitting tonight anyway. 

~

The rest of classes went by extremely slow, the only perk of the day being that we ran track in Phys Ed. Now I sit in Wade’s red and black Chevy Nova - yeah I know, a high schooler with a super nice car, but he had bought it with his own money when he turned 17 - on the way to my house so I can get my car and drive over to Mr. Barton’s.   
When we arrive at my house, I pull my car keys out of my pocket - yes I keep my keys on me even while the car is parked at my house. I nod a thanks to Wade as he drives off to practice. I get in my car, starting it and making my way inside the house I had now become semi-familiar with over the past year of babysitting Eli.   
A few short minutes later I pull into the Barton’s driveway, seeing the light in the front room window on even though it was only 3:25 in the afternoon. I get out of my car and walk to the front door, knocking with a knock, knock, thud sound. Mr. Barton opens the door, shrugging on his black leather jacket.   
“Hey kid,” he looks at me, “Eli is laying on the couch, he got sick earlier so he is watching movies. I should only be at work for a few hours, you know what to do if anything happens.” He says letting me in the house as he was about to leave. I nod, already knowing exactly what to do if anything should happen. Leaving the door open, he walks to the living room, gently kissing his son on the forehead and telling him he would be back later.   
After Mr. Barton is out of the house, I walk up to Eli who is currently lying on the couch wrapped in blankets. I kneel in front of him, brushing some hair from his eyes.   
“Hey buddy,” I say. “How are you feeling?” He just shrugs, looking at me with his big blue-green eyes.   
“Wanna watch movies?” I suggest, it’s his favorite thing to do when he is sick.   
“Hercules!” He exclaims, a smile forming on his cute little face. I nod with a chuckle and turn around to find Hercules in the pile movies kept in the front room. I start the movie and walk into the kitchen, getting some apple juice in Elliot’s favorite Paw Patrol cup. I walk back in the living room and set Eli’s cup on the floor by his head, making sure not to walk in front of him for more than a few seconds.   
I sit at the end of the couch, checking Elliot’s fever every half hour. After the movie I make spaghetti for dinner, something easy for the little man’s belly.   
“Pietro, can we watch movies in daddy’s room after dinner? The TV in his room is super big,” he says, finishing his plate of spaghetti.   
“Does your dad usually let you watch movies in his bedroom?” I ask, and although I have been babysitting the small boy for a years time, we only ever stayed in the living room and the dining room/kitchen.   
He just nodded as he sat at the table, drinking a cup of water. I sigh and nod in sign that we would watch movies in his dad's room after I finished the dishes.   
I humm a tune as I walk up the stairs, being pulled by the small boy’s hand to his father’s bedroom. I had never been in his room before, but Eli just pushed open the door and turned on the television set. I hold my hand out for the remote, flipping through the channels until I found a movie on Starz.   
With a contented sigh, Eli lies on the bed, his blanket from before dinner in his hand. I lie on the bed beside the small boy, his body curled up against mine as he snuggles into my side. I smile and look around the room, noticing the dark grey accent wall behind the tv. I smile as I hear little Eli snore softly into my side; I turn to where his face is tucked safely in my chest, my face against the dark grey pillow. A musky scent of outdoors and Mr. Barton’s shampoo filled my senses as I take in a breath.   
Against my own will, my eyes start to feel heavy as the sun sinks into the horizon. I subconsciously wrap a protective arm around the young boy curled up in my chest as I let the sleep consume me.


	2. Chapter Two

The older man arrived home to see that the house was dark and the living room television set was shut off. He sighed, shrugging off his black leather jacket as he walked up the dark, carpeted stairs to his bedroom. He walked into his bedroom, first noticing that the tele was playing an animated movie. He then looked to his queen sized bed, seeing the white-blond hair of the teenager on his dark purple and grey bedspread. As he moved closer to the bed, he saw his small son tucked into the teenager’s chest.  
It had been two years since the man saved Pietro’s life, and the teenager didn’t even remember. Clint let out another sigh, remembering that awful day. There had been bombs going off left and right, bullets were raining down on the small Russian town. He had found the twins, then fifteen in the remains of their apartment building, the younger brunette crying as her brother laid beside her, blood seeping from his abdomen. The older man had carried the older twin to the jet, hoping and silently praying that the young man lived, despite the amount of blood loss and damage to his body.  
Clint shivered, not wanting to think about the way the fear had struck him. Instead, he stripped his shirt and pants, only left to his boxer briefs and walks to his attached bathroom. After he was done in the bathroom he pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and sat on the side of his bed. He brushed away the hair from his son’s face, a light smile gracing his lips at the sight in front of him. Sure he had come home to the small brunet sleeping in the arms of Pietro, but never had he come home to them sleeping so peacefully, in his bed.  
Standing up he grabbed an extra blanket from the end of his bed and covered the two sleeping figures. The brunet walked back down the stairs and into the kitchen, turning on the overhead light as he walked in. He tiredly walked over to the silver microwave that was held above the stove, knowing that Pietro had saved him a bowl of whatever they had for dinner that night. Spaghetti. A light smile appeared on his face, knowing that Eli had tried to help with it, even in his sick state. He grabbed a fork from the drawer and started eating, not even heating up the now cold spaghetti.  
He finished, setting the empty bowl in the sink and walking back up to his bedroom. He smiled seeing two figures still in the bed, breathing lightly. He looked at the clock on his nightstand, 10:57 P.M., it flashed in bright green. He ran his hands through his hair, looking at the two he decided to just let them sleep. He crawled onto the bed, lying down beside the small six year old.  
The boy turned over, eyes fluttering, “Daddy?” he asked tiredly.  
The father smiled down at his son, “Hey little man. Go back to sleep, I’m home now.” The boy just nodded, snuggling closer into his sitter’s arms. Letting his head hit the pillow, the man felt the sleep tugging at his body; with one last look at Pietro and his son, he closed his eyes and let the darkness consume him. 

~

The older man woke to the sound of a ringing phone. He groggily opens his eyes to find the ringing phone. Seeing the phone on the night stand behind the other two figures, he gently leans over them, making sure not to wake the two, and answers the phone, just wanting the ringing to stop.  
“Hello,” he states in his deep, slumber ridden voice.  
“You aren’t Pietro,” the voice on the other end of the line states, a playfulness to his tone.  
“No, I’m not,” he says, trying to wake himself up.  
“Well, can you tell him to get his ass to school? I’ve tried calling like three times already,” the other deep voice states, annoyance lacing his tone.  
“Yeah,” Clint says simply, hearing the line go dead only a few moments later. As he lies back down, he sees the blond man start to stir, his eyes slowing fluttering open.  
“M-Mister Barton?” he asks, confusion lacing his voice. He starts to move, only to feel a weight holding his arm down. He looks down, only to see a sleeping Elliot curled into his side.  
“I-I’m sorry Mister Barton, I didn’t mean to sleep over,” he panics.  
Clint just chuckles, shaking his head. “Kid, chill out. I don’t care. But your friend did call and says for you to get to school,” the brunet says, watching his small son sleep. Pietro just nods his head, even though Clint wasn’t watching.  
“I should probably go,” Pietro says, his free hand scratching the back of his neck. He made a move to reposition the small child, causing him to stir in his sleep.  
“Um, Mr. Barton-” the blond starts, his accent thicker than usual from sleep. Clint looks up from his son to the teenager. The deep blue of the blond’s eyes catching his attention first, a color that resembles the sky on a cloudless summer day. His eyes travel down the young man’s face, noticing the slight, thin shadow of a stubble along his cheeks, his jaw that was soft as he looked between older brunet and the six year old curled in his side.  
“M-Mister Barton,” Pietro says again, bringing Clint from his trance.  
“Hmm?”  
“How am I to get up and go to school with Eli on me?” He questions. Clint just grinned, sitting up on the soft mattress. He gently put one hand behind the small boy’s shoulders and wrapped the other arm under the boy's knees, lifting him off of Pietro gently.  
“Thank you,” Pietro said, sliding off the bed quietly, as to not wake the boy who was now stirring awake as he was set down on the bed.  
“Daddy, my belly hurts,” the small voice came from the bed.  
“What’s wrong buddy? Do you feel like you might get sick again?” the father asked worriedly. Eli just nodded, sitting up on the bed with his back against the grey pillows. Pietro, who had his back turned, quickly grabbed the trash can from the floor beside the bed, quickly holding it up so Eli wouldn’t get sick all over the bed. As the small boy got sick Pietro just held the trash can as Clint rubbed his son’s back soothingly.  
Looking up from his son, Clint worried and something else struck his eyes as he looked at the teenager holding the bucket for his son.  
“I’m really sorry to ask, but can you help me with him today?” Mr. Barton pleaded, looking truly sorry for asking, but not knowing what else to do as his son had never gotten sick like this before.  
“Yeah, it’s no problem. I will have to tell Wade to pick up my work for me though,” Peiro replied, not taking his gaze off the six year old sitting on the bed.  
After Eli was finished puking, Pietro moved the small bucket back to the floor, and brushed the dark hair from the boys face.  
“Let's get you to your own bed, little man,” Clint said gently taking his son up in his arms. The boy just nodded, laying his head on his father’s shoulder.  
Taking the quiet opportunity, Pietro grabbed his phone from the bedside table, unlocking the phone to see that it is was only 8:00 in the morning. Going through his notifications he saw that Wade had called him three times, and sent at least 47 different text messages. Sighing, he decided to call Wade back before classes start.  
On the second ring he picked up, “Baaaabe, where are you? You do know that classes start in five minutes right?”  
“I’m not your baaaabe, Peter is. And yes I know. But I’m taking care of Eli today, he got sick again this morning and Mr. Barton needs the help.” Pietro explains.  
“Oooo, getting some Mr. Barton booty, are we?” Wade teases.  
“Ew, Wade, no.” Pietro says, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.  
“Uh huh,” is all Wade says.  
“Whatever. Please get all my homework for today.”  
“Yes Princess. Be sure to get some of that daddy ass,” Wade snickered, making the blush on Pietro’s face even deeper red.  
“I’m hanging up now,” Pietro said, bringing the blue encased phone from his face and hitting the red end button.  
“What’s got you so flushed?” Clint asked leaning against the doorway, peering at the bright red teenager.  
“N-Nothing,” Pietro stammered, trying to hide the blush behind his hands. Clint just looked at the young man as if he didn’t believe him, but didn’t push the matter.  
“Eli is back asleep for now,” Clint said, stepping out of the doorway and walking to his dresser. Pietro took that as his cue to leave, walking down the stairs and into the living room. He sat on the grey loveseat facing the kitchen. 

Pietro’s P.O.V.

Just as I sat on the couch I remembered that I have homework in my bookbag out in the car, so I grab my keys from the coffee table in the center of the room and walk to the front door. I unlock the deadbolt with a click and step onto the porch.  
Letting the crisp, cool air of the morning hit my skin I take in a deep breath. I walk down the short steps and over to my silver Pontiac Grand Prix - not the nicest car ever, but it gets me around and it was cheap. I unlock the driver side door and lean across the center console to grab my book bag. With my bookbag in hand, I lock my car back and walk back into the house.  
I sit back down on the couch, with my book bag on the floor beside me and pull a blanket on my lap. As I open my text book for trig I hear Mr. Barton walk into the kitchen.  
Looking up, I see him standing at the sink looking out the window with his back towards me. Taking in the view, I see the taut muscles of his back, flexing even more as he brings a cup up to his lips. He sets the cup back on the counter, turning around; the first thing I notice are the six-pack abs. My eyes follow his abs down his stomach to the v-line that is exposed by the very low hanging black sweatpants on his hips. My eyes slowly travel back up to his face; his blue green eyes a perfect shade, his strong jawline that never quits.  
He clears his throat, brining me out of my trance. I just openly checked out my boss. My mind was racing with all the ways that that was wrong to do.  
“See something you like?” He teases, a smirk on his face. I feel the heat rising up the back of my neck; I could feel that the tips of my ears were red.  
Yes. I think to myself.  
“Sor-Sorry,” I mumble, bowing my head, playing with the loose threads on the blanket on my lap. I pull my legs up on the couch, sitting cross legged with the trig textbook in my lap, trying to avoid Mr. Barton’s gaze.  
“Watcha working on,” he asks, sitting on the cushion to my right.  
“Trig homework,” I say, trying to focus, only to fail miserably. I look up from the textbook to see Mr. Barton with his arm on the back of the couch, leaning toward me to see the text book. I notice his soft looking pink lips.  
Stop, I think, he is off limits… but he is single… and doesn't like me…  
I’m pulled out of my thoughts when he clears his throat, my eyes flicker up to his swirling dark green ones.  
“Kid, you gotta stop looking at me like that,” he said, his eyes flicking to my lips, then back up to meet my own blue ones.  
I just set the text book on the coffee table and grab the remote to the tele. I lean back into the couch, turning on The Fresh Prince and pulling the blanket up around my shoulders. A shiver runs down my spine as I inhale the intoxicating scent of Mr. Barton. This is his blanket, I think to myself as I train my gaze on the television.  
“Are you cold?” he asks, I can feel his gaze on the side of my head. I was kind of cold, now that I think about it.  
“Kind of,” I say, slightly glancing at him.  
“C’mon, I’ll get you some warmer clothes,” he says standing from the couch, extending his hand to me. I take the hand, standing up and following him up the stairs to his room. He walks over to his dresser and rummages through one of the drawers as I stand by the bed, ringing my hands together awkwardly.  
I may have been babysitting Eli for just over a year - and stayed the night as per Eli’s request, but this is the first time that I’ve ever borrowed clothes from Mr. Barton.  
“These should fit you,” he tosses a pair of his sweatpants at me. They were similar to the ones he was currently wearing, black with a white drawstring, but these ones had the Aeropostale logo down the left leg.  
“Uh, thanks,” I mumble, he tosses me a blue sweater also. “Um, should I change in -” I point to the bathroom.  
“Yeah that’s fine,” he doesn’t even look up.  
I walk to the bathroom attached to the bedroom. It had a walk in shower with clean glass walls, one of those stand-alone bathtubs that sat under the big window on the far wall. It isn’t an overly large bathroom though. I lay the clothes on the shiny white countertop. I strip to my blue plaid boxer briefs and look in the mirror.  
I look at my abdomen, pink scar tissue peppering my abs. Not wanting to look at the ugly scars, I slip on the blue sweater, its soft fabric rubbing against my skin. It smells like Mr. Barton, an intoxicating scent of outdoors and Playboy VIP. I slip the pants on quickly and walk to the door, opening it to see Mr. Barton with his hand up like he was going to knock.  
“I was just going to check on you,” he said in his husky, deep voice. My hands drop to my sides as I notice that he still hasn’t put on a shirt. I have to look down a little bit to look at him, seeing as I am about two inches taller than him.  
Against my own will, my hands reach out to feel his taut muscles. My hand rubs up his abdomen to his chest, feeling all of his muscles tense and relax as my hand explores. He grabs my hand and pushes me up against the door to the bathroom, pinning my wrists to my sides.  
“Pietro,” I love the way my name rolls off his tongue, “you don’t know what your getting into,” he growls out. I just smirk as I look at him. I really shouldn’t do this, I’m the babysitter for crying out loud. But you’ve liked him for months. I think to myself.  
I just pull my wrists from his grip, letting them hang to my sides again. He’s so close, I can feel his warm breath on my face. My eyes flicker from his eyes to his pink lips; I catch him doing the same. I slowly lean my head down to his, afraid of what he would do. My eyes flutter closed as I feel him tilt his head up to meet my lips, closing the gap.  
I rest my hands on his hips, slowly rubbing circles with my thumbs. His hands tangled in my hair, tugging at the ends lightly. A small moan escapes my mouth as he tugs at my hair again, causing him to smirk into the kiss. I pull his body closer to mine as his tongue swipes across my bottom lip, asking for access; I just smirk as I pull my lips back slightly, taking in a breath.  
“Damn, kid.” he says with his hands still tangled in my hair. I just smirk,  
tightening my grip on his hips. He smashes his lips into mine again, trailing his hands down my back torturously slow. I roll my hips against his, needing more friction. His hands grip my hips as mine are his, rolling his hips against mine against.  
“M-mister Barton,” I moan out breathily, breaking the kiss.  
“Clint, call me Clint,” he says huskily, voice laced with arousal. I just nod my head.  
I lean my head back against the door as he roughly kisses down my neck. He lightly nips the bottom of my neck, and that’s when I hear it: coughing from the bedroom down the hall. Not just small coughs either, coughs that were deep and from the chest, the kind that make it painful to breathe.  
Without hesitation, I’m out of Clint’s grasp and running down the short hall to Elliot’s bedroom. I rush in, kneeling down beside his bed, helping him to sit up against his pale blue pillows. I just rub his back as he keeps coughing, not really able to do much for him.  
Clint rushes in with a cup full of water, holding it against his son’s lips to drink as he finally stops coughing. After taking two big gulps, Eli pushes the cup away from his face.  
“I wanna watch movies,” he mumbles.  
“Okay, Ezra, we can watch movies,” I say, calling him by one of his middle names. He throws his arms around my neck and I carry him to the living room, laying him on the sofa directly in front of the tele.  
“What do we want to watch today,” I ask, turning to the stack of movies from last night.  
“Ariel,” he exclaimed, bouncing on the couch. With that answer, I rummage through the pile to find The Little Mermaid. Once the disk is in the player, I press play and grab Eli’s blanket off the back of the chair. I grab my phone from the coffee table and sit down on the grey sofa after I cover up the small boy.  
I check the time to see that it is already 10:30 in the morning. I decide to abandon all my responsibilities today, except for Ezra, and just watch movies all day.


End file.
